Trouble
by CelticGoddess81
Summary: War is a messy business, life doesn't just go back to normal when the fighting ends. A person grabs whatever sense of semblance and happiness one can find. Life tends to throw everyone a curve ball. Draco and Ginny fanfiction. Post war... Books 1-7 except the epilogue. Happy reading. :D


_This is my first Fanfiction in five years…Ironically it seems to be a pattern with me. This one I have to say was and is still very much in progress… Please be kind. Also there was a song that inspired this little ditty check it out, while reading, its called "Trouble" by the Trumpet Child. _

_Please remember that it has been quite a long time since I have posted and be kind in your reviews… I remain an avid fan of Draco and Ginny, *waves the flag for Draco and Ginny!* even JK Rowlings didn't see it my way... As always I own NOTHING… just the pleasure of a great imagination. :D_

This was her type of place. In fact it was one of her favorite places. After a war things were never as they once were. War often turned saints into sinners and sinner into martyrs, and though she didn't feel that she really fell into either category she still had a sense of things to come. She took a deep breath to calm her jangled nerves and loved the scent that reached her nostrils; a mix of old wood and lemon polish with a splash of liquor thrown in. Smiling to familiar faces around the club she approached the bar nodded to the handsome man behind the bar wearing a fedora hat, white button down shirt with sleeves rolled up and what she knew from past experience to be black old style slacks, the kind men wore in the Forties. A drink was placed in front of her and she rolled the glass between her palms a few times before picking it up for a long slow drink, as she turned to survey the room; her back to the bar and one arm draped over the back of a nearby chair.

In the heart of London—in the basement of a nondescript building—laid the "Spot", as it was affectionately called by those who loved it. The Spot once boasted a speakeasy, a 1940's jazz bar and many, many other things over the years, but this decade it was once again a jazz bar with a twist. Capable of many different sounds that were not limited to the smooth sounds of that genera, it had different clientele on different nights. The club was a _chameleon_ of sorts able to adapt and change. This night the smooth strains of a tango floated though the air wrapping itself around her and making her hips sway of their own accord, the edge of her dress swishing just above her knees, the onyx satin feeling soft against her cool skin.

From his advantage point in a dark corner booth he watched the siren saunter into the club he hadn't wanted to come to, his associates nattering on loudly above the music. His mouth had gone dry just watch her hips unconsciously move in time to the cords the pianist was tapping out. His gaze started at the back of her head and worked its way south. Her hair was long, lose, wavy, and the color of mahogany; it all but begged for a man's hands to be buried in its length. He shifted in his seat and continued his trip down the backside of temptation personified. He noted that the back of her dress scooped down and if he were very lucky he could possibly see her lower back. Instinct told him to raise up a bit and see if his hunch was right and there was indeed a tattoo on her creamy epidermis, however the conversation at the booth had shifted and those in his presence were looking at him for a response. Shaking his head, the group of three men went back to their discussion, and he returned his attention where it had been.

His path continued down the tantalizing beauty. She had curves in all the places to make a man pay attention, her hips, good God, he wanted to pay homage to those hips. How hips could be anything but a joint he had never know but this woman made him want to fall to his knees and pay homage to an unknown deity. He paused in his visual exploration, for but a moment before he forged ahead. Her thighs were only barely visible under the black dress she wore but what he could see was darkly clad also. He wondered if she was the type of woman to wear tights or thigh highs, and it was that sudden thought that had him shifting once again. Her legs were proportional to her body and did a lot for his imagination. Dear God in heaven, the heels she wore must have added at least five inches to her stature. It was then that he shifted for the third time and realized that he had never had this kind of reaction before. Oh, of course he was no amateur in the bedroom. But this instant itch before, it was all consuming. The last thing he took note of was the way she rolled her drink between her hands before taking a long slow drink. He was sure if he had had the pleasure of frontal view of this female, he would bet his vast fortune that she had closed her eyes and sighed.

The question of the hour was whether he would die of this infatuation before the night was over, for at that moment the spell binding creature he was gazing upon turned to inspection the room around her. It was this occasion that he chose to work his way from bottom to top; legs still as perfect from front as from back, thighs—still made him wonder—hips well what could really be said about those that had not already been thought? Ah the waist, just as tantalizing from the front… his thought died a slow death at that moment for his brain had shut off completely. He had never really been a man that cared what size a woman's chest was, being more the type of man that cared that the appendage was there at all than what size they were. He wondered once again if the woman he gawked at was imagined. She had a chest that was large enough to make him squirm but not so large that they looked fake or God forbid plastic. He had already thought to gamble his fortune now the thought was to gamble his life, his instinct told him he'd have no trouble palming them.

Raising his stare, he took note of her neck. An elegant column with which a man could easily pull a woman close to kiss. Having traveled all the way up the front of this woman he had found no defect as of yet. It was then that he saw her face, and time stood still. He was positive he know her, in fact if he had not had two drinks already he could probably have pin pointed who he was gaping at easier. But even through the recognition he still had to admit that she was lovely. Her skin creamy and almost look liked porcelain, though not in the china doll sort of way. Oh boy, was he in trouble, even if he did know her he was likely to make a fool out of himself; the way he was feeling at the moment, yeah he was about to make himself a right dish.

To Be Continued….


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